


Common as a Winter Cold

by darksylvia



Series: Investigations of a Magical Nature [2]
Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell & Related Fandoms, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, accidentally married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 23:57:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17928815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darksylvia/pseuds/darksylvia
Summary: Segundus and Childermass perform magic that has unexpected personal consequences of a marital nature.





	Common as a Winter Cold

**Author's Note:**

> The somewhat more explicit addendum to [In Which Mr Segundus and Mr Childermass Investigate a Magical Disturbance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729378).
> 
> Betaed, once again, by the wonderful and patient [Palavapeite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palavapeite/).

“The  _ ivy _ , Mr Segundus!” shouted Childermass.

“I am  _ trying _ ,” said Segundus, a touch indignant, though it was mostly lost in the roar of the wind.

The air elemental was out of control, and certainly other materials would have been more magically appropriate for binding it, but they hadn’t any other materials to hand since they had expected only a troll at the worst.

Segundus was forced to drop his shirt sleeve, which he’d been holding over his mouth and nose, in order to wrestle the ivy into position around the writhing whirlwind. He immediately breathed in a stinging array of dirt and debris. Choking and coughing, he wound his part of ivy around to meet Childermass’ until the ring was completed.

“Quickly,” said Childermass, and seized Segundus’ hands with both of his, so that the ivy overlapped. “The words—now!”

Segundus said the words in the Latin, having to breathe shallowly so he would not cough and mangle the spell. As he said them, Childermass was weaving the sigil into the ends of the ivy, still tangled hopelessly around their wrists to keep them from blowing away.

Childermass tied the last knot—a good sturdy sailor’s knot—and Segundus uttered the last syllable, and the wind—died.

The ivy ring fell, transforming as it did so, and when it touched the ground, the ring had become stone. Mr Segundus twisted his wrists, managing to get free of the stone ivy, after which he sat down hard and had a good long cough into his handkerchief.

Then he examined their work. The ring looked as if it had been carved by a stone carver particularly dedicated to realism. Each whirl, stem, and leaf of ivy existed in stark relief.

“Oh!” said Mr Segundus, spotting several small scratches on Childermass’ hands from when he had freed them, seemingly with greater difficulty than Segundus himself.  Abandoning his examination of the stone vines, he found another unsoiled handkerchief in his waistcoat and pressed it into Childermass’ hands.

“It’s quite alright, Mr Segundus. Simply a scratch,” said Childermass, but he sat wearily down and submitted to Segundus’ inspection.

“You know as well as I do, Mr Childermass, that blood near a magical working is nothing at all  _ simple _ .”

“Yes, but in this case, I think it has made the spell stronger rather than broken it. Look.” He gestured with a jerk of his chin, and Segundus saw that the stone ivy had now become metal of some sort.

“I confess I am not entirely sure what we did,” sighed Segundus. “Certainly that’s no part of Greenhill’s binding[1]. Though it seems to have been effective.”

“It seems so,” agreed Childermass. They were silent for a long moment, as they caught their breath, and as the afternoon’s grey clouds broke up to reveal a weak sunset.

“I think it time for supper, Mr Segundus,” said Childermass, who climbed to his feet and offered Segundus his hand.

“I believe you are right, Mr Childermass,” said Segundus.

They made their way back down to the village, and though they were much dustier than they’d been, they weren’t much worse for their afternoon’s work capturing an air elemental. They were, however, greeted with a hero’s welcome at the local public house, where nearly the entirety of the town’s population had gathered to congratulate them. The elemental had been ravaging long stripes down every local farmer’s field, and there was no shortage of grateful villagers. 

It was simple food, and simple ale, but all of it was quite the most delicious meal in Segundus’ recent history, a fact he vaguely remembered telling Childermass as they helped each other up to the room given them for the night. It was possible they had both drunk slightly too much ale, but it had seemed just the thing at the time. 

“We have become very proficient at these—calls,” said Segundus, as they (rather unsteadily) took off their coats and shoes and prepared to sleep.

“We have,” agreed Childermass. “We’ve done more magic now than the rest of England combined, I’d lay wager.”

“Your use of woven sigils was inspired,” said Segundus, suddenly prone on the soft surface of the bed, and content to stay that way.

“You pronounced the Latin so clearly I cannot think how any magical creature would disobey you,” returned Childermass, his voice warm. He grasped Segundus’ arm and helped him move slightly to the left to make room enough for Childermass’ frame. Segundus felt his weight as he sank onto the other half of the bed. 

“We have done an honest magician’s work today,” pronounced Segundus, grandly, flinging his  arms wide.

“Oof,” said Childermass, a casualty of this gesturing. Segundus, noticing this, blushed.

“I must beg your pardon for the imposition of my arm, Mr Childermass.”

“You have it.”

“Only, I do not think I have the wherewithal to remove it.”

“Then you needn’t,” said Childermass. “’Tis not a hardship.”

They lay silent, and Segundus reflected that he could feel the rise and fall of Childermass’ chest. He rather liked it, as it made his own breath become even, and in turn, pleasantly sleepy. As he was approaching the edge of sleep, he felt Childermass slide his own forearm to lie alongside his, and grasp him at the elbow. 

Several minutes later, they were both fast asleep.

-

In the light of morning, they were a trifle less cheerful, although mostly this was not the fault of drinking too much ale, but of sheer fatigue. The day before, they’d both ridden hard to get to this far-flung village, tramped around fields all day, worked a complex spell without much preparation, and then been congratulated by enthusiastic farmers for half the night.

They breakfasted in companionable semi-silence, and then prepared to go their separate ways—Segundus back to Starecross, and Childermass to retrieve Vinculus.

And it was then in the courtyard, already mounted on their horses, that they discovered a complication; for when Segundus raised his hand in farewell and tried to set out, his horse Hermes nearly went out from under him. Mr Segundus was by no means a master horseman (having been too poor for horse ownership until quite recently), but he certainly had the basic skills. He reined Hermes in and, embarrassed despite himself, settled his seat more firmly, then attempted to prod Hermes onward once more.

This time, there was a small noise from behind him, and he turned to see Childermass, poised to leave through the opposite gate, slide slowly off the back of his own horse, a look of astonishment on his face. 

Brewer himself also seemed astonished, if the way he danced forward a few unsure steps and then looked back at Childermass was any indication. Brewer was well trained, and Childermass had ridden him through storm, bog, moor, and, once, fairy. Never before had Childermass slid off his back.

“Oh, are you alright, sir!” said Segundus, already swinging down from Hermes, and striding over to help Childermass to his feet.

“Something is amiss.” Childermass stood, having regained his feet, with one hand clasped in Segundus’ and the other on Brewer’s flank.

“I agree,” said Segundus. “But what?

Childermass gave him a considering sort of look and said, “Permit me, sir, to suggest an experiment.”

“Of course!” said Segundus.

“Walk to the far edge of the courtyard and wait there.”

Segundus obliged, and watched with curiosity as Childermass, upon seeing Segundus at his post, turned to walk through the arch. Brewer made to follow, but Childermass did not get far. Segundus watched in concern as he strained, as if walking uphill, or through a thick marsh. After a moment, he stopped.

“Mr Segundus!” He called. “If you please, walk out the opposite gate.”

And so Segundus did—or tried at any rate. It did not feel difficult to walk, he simply…did not seem to get anywhere. 

“One more experiment,” said Childermass, striding to join him. “Walk beside me this time.”

So saying, they both strolled easily out the gate, and a small way down the northerly road. At this, Segundus was fairly sure he knew what Childermass was deducing. 

“We are bound,” said Segundus. “Is it a consequence of our work yesterday?”

“It stands to reason,” agreed Childermass. “The spell was hardly orthodox.”

“Surely we can unbind ourselves.”

“What would you suggest?” 

“Perhaps a symbolic severing of—”

“Perhaps  _ you _ have forgotten the affair in Middlington[2], but I have not,” interjected Childermass.

“I have not forgotten,” said Segundus, a trifle testily. “But performed upon ourselves—”

“Let us look for an alternative first,” said Childermass, his tone amused, but his eyes solemn. “I should not like to be the cause of injury to you.”

“Oh—” Segundus tried not to let it be writ across his face, but such statements from Childermass never failed to make him flustered. Then: “Was it the ivy, do you think? Greenhill asked for woven rope—”

Before Childermass could give an answer, they were accosted by another patron, presumably trying to exit the gateway in which they were standing.

“Oy, have a chat somewhere else!”

Childermass tipped his hat in an insolent manner, Segundus apologised, and they stepped back into the inn’s courtyard.

“We should step back inside, since we will not be going anywhere soon. I will ask the cards what we may do.” And with this plan, Childermass became decisive once more. He hailed the stable boy, who had just helped saddle both horses, and gave him a coin. “Keep them ready,” he told the boy. “We won’t be long.” 

They adjourned back into the public house.

“Another moment at one of your tables, sir,” said Childermass. The owner, who was somewhat surprised to see them still about, supposed all magicians were strange and had unfathomable needs, and nodded in what he felt was an understanding fashion, as he waved them to an unoccupied table.

Childermass swept his coat aside and sat. Segundus sat opposite him, never failing to be interested in the cards. He’d tried his hand at this magic, and could not get sense out of it, but he appreciated and perhaps even  _ felt _ the magic when Childermass consulted them. Childermass had tried to explain to him once when they were waiting for a mischievous sprite in a barn, that his questions weren’t fully formed sentences, but rather pointed feelings, and so the cards answered in kind. Mr Segundus was not a very forceful person, and he supposed his reticence in demanding answers caused some of the problem. It was one thing to speak Latin forcefully at an air elemental that was attempting to sweep him up, but another to coax playing cards to give one predictions of the future.

At first, Childermass flipped the cards over with the keen-eyed confidence he displayed much of the time. It was only after he had swept the set back up to lay it out anew, and then once more that Segundus perceived some frustration creeping into his countenance, as closed as it was. They had spent enough time together of late, putting out proverbial magical fires, that Segundus had become quite adept at reading Childermass’ moods. Frustration became concern, concern became a species of calm incredulity, and it was then that Segundus felt the need to interject.

“What do they say, sir? If they are vexing, perhaps I can help.”

Leaving the cards on the table, Childermass sat back, cocked a leg to the side, and brought out his pipe. He took the time to pack and light it, all while Segundus waited impatiently. It was a ritual Childermass went through when he was attempting to marshall his thoughts into a better order. Finally, after a long draw off the pipe, Childermass said, “It would seem, Mr Segundus, that we are married.”

He blew a smoke ring and stared across at Segundus in an enigmatic sort of silence. 

Segundus, returning his stare as the seconds stretched between them, had a desperate desire to kick him. The nerve of him, to say something so outlandish, so—preposterous—that Segundus could scarcely understand it, and then to sit there like a sphinx—! 

“I do not understand you, sir!” cried Segundus, and then, noticing he had attracted the attention of the few other people in the room, he lowered his volume and continued, “Aside from it being impossible, I’m quite sure I would remember something so...so—!”

“Nevertheless, the cards say we are married. That is the source of our difficulty; we are bound to each other. Physically. Magically.”

Mr Segundus took a moment to absorb this. It was, to speak understatedly, very inconvenient to be bound to another person in such an absurdly literal way. He wanted to reject Childermass’ conclusion, but his cards had never been wrong that Segundus knew of. To add to the absurdity, as he looked at Childermass smoking his pipe in a contemplative silence, he found that instead of being put out, or angry, or even mildly annoyed, he was rather—stirred. Or, he thought quickly and with a flush of embarrassment, perhaps that was not quite the word, but he could not think of another to better describe what he felt in the face of such strange news. There was a lifting in his chest that was so incongruous he could not name it. His heart pulsed in his throat.

Childermass, for his part, now appeared to be taking the cards’ verdict very calmly. His habitual expression of faint amusement was, perhaps, slightly more amused than usual, and in looking at him, Segundus had a sudden urge to laugh. Of all the strange magical side effects they could have produced! Marriage!

“We shall have to find a way to break it,” said Segundus, sobering a little. “Or at least, the effect of it—for I do not think you will find it terribly convenient to have me trampling along behind you on your comings and goings with Vinculus. And you would not thank me for keeping you at Starecross for so long.”

“Yes. Terribly inconvenient,” Childermass said vaguely. He busied himself cleaning his pipe and putting it away, and then gathered his cards. “We should look to Starecross’ library first.” 

“You are right, of course. Only—I have never read any account similar to this.”

“If we cannot find it in your books, we shall look further afield. We will find a solution of some sort.” And when Segundus opened his mouth, Childermass added, “One that does not include bloodletting.”

-

This time, as they set out from the public house, they travelled together to Starecross Hall. They found that out in open countryside, they could stray from each other quite far, and that so long as they could see the other, they suffered no ill effects. In the hours that it took them to travel, Segundus began to find it almost pleasant. He’d never been a great outdoorsman, certainly not to the calibre that Childermass was, and so  _ knowing _ he could not become lost—by merit of being unable to stray out of sight of Childermass—was a rather reassuring notion.

They stopped for a brief repast, sitting down on a sizeable rock in the shade of a tree from which they could see for miles across the moor, and the sun chose to make a brief appearance through the clouds.

“Since we may do no more this moment for our present difficulty,” said Segundus, “tell me—what did you make of Parish’s[3] revisitation of the Whitbyian Heresy?

“He is short-sighted in his estimation of the power of the thirteenth century church, although I cannot fault all his criticisms.” 

“Indeed, who knows what other revelations Whitby might have come across, if he hadn’t been so soundly discredited? Which reminds me: there is a book I acquired which I have kept aside for you, examining the differences between Northern and Southern language use in non-Latin spells…”

They carried on in this same manner for the rest of their journey, which continued to be similarly uneventful, so that, had they been asked, the magicians might have said that marriage, magical and involuntary though it was, was a pleasant enough affair.

Upon arriving at Starecross, Segundus found his housekeeper locking the door as she left for the evening. 

“We[4] had expected you home sooner, Mr Segundus,” she said as they dismounted. “But I kept your dinner on the hob.” She eyed Childermass. “There should be plenty for Mr Childermass, I should think.”

“Thank you very much, Mrs Tallow,” said Mr Segundus gratefully, and Childermass offered her a short bow and asked after her grandson.

When Mrs Tallow had started her walk toward the village, Segundus and Childermass turned to go inside. Segundus was down the hallway, and failing to enter the kitchen, when he realised Childermass was not behind him. He turned back to find him standing just before the open front door.

“Mr Childermass?” asked Segundus.

“It would seem,” said Childermass, “That I cannot cross the threshold to your house.”

“There really is a distressing dearth of knowledge regarding magical marriage!” burst out Segundus. 

Mr Segundus’ first inclination was to go to the library to find a solution, as was his usual habit with magical problems. There were two difficulties with that: the first was that he would most likely not find an answer to this trouble before Childermass had spent a night outside. The second was that he still could not stray beyond sight of Childermass.

They considered the problem as Childermass poked at the door with his boot. “Perhaps if I invite you, formally.” Segundus straightened up and said, “Mr John Childermass, please, won’t you come inside?”

Childermass moved to enter and...rebounded, gently.

“Perhaps the phrasing is wrong.” Segundus considered and said, “John Childermass, you may enter Starecross Hall.” That did not work either, nor did half a dozen other phrases, some of them in Latin.

“Mr Segundus,” Childermass said, even as Segundus was murmuring about changing the word order to something more archaic. “I believe the nature of your invitation must be more...physical.” He shifted on his feet restlessly. “Think, Mr Segundus. The magic considers us to be  _ wed _ .”

“Oh!” Mr Segundus had never married, and had only attended a handful of weddings, but he did seem to recall, vaguely, a tradition of the bride being carried over the threshold of her husband’s new house.

“I suppose—” he said doubtfully, looking at Childermass’ length and breadth, which were greater than his own. Certainly Mr Segundus was not overly weak, but his main occupation was lifting books. Just as he had made his mind up to try, and began pushing up his shirt sleeves, Childermass interrupted him.

“Shall we try, simply, to enter with clasped hands before we attempt more extreme measures?” he said, his mouth and voice quavering with repressed mirth.

“It would serve you right if I were to leave you on the doorstep,” snapped Segundus, blushing. “You nearly let me—” But he took a deep breath and decided his dinner was more important than providing Childermass with further amusement.

He stepped out through the door and clasped Childermass’ right hand within his left. He did not think he had ever touched Childermass’ hand with such deliberation and awareness before, though he knew he must have clasped it many times over the course of their acquaintance and friendship. Childermass’ hand was firm and warm, fingers contracting around Segundus’ own. There were calluses in the same and in different places as on Segundus’ hand, speaking to their work as scholars, but also to Childermass’ more varied work. It was rather a heady experience, though why that should be so, Segundus did not examine too deeply. If he took longer to arrange their hands to his satisfaction than was strictly necessary, Childermass did not complain.

At last, at a nod from Childermass, they both stepped easily over the wooden sill, just as if there had never been any resistance at all. There was a strange sensation of...settling. As if another stone had been placed in a wall.

“On one hand, we know more about the binding,” hazarded Segundus. 

“But on the other, we are more bound than before,” finished Childermass.

“Well.” Segundus was still holding Childermass’ hand, and found himself strangely reluctant to let it go, although it must be said that Childermass did not seem in any rush to rid himself of Segundus’, either.

Before it could become something they must comment on, Segundus cleared his throat a little and pulled away, saying, “Let us investigate what Mrs Tallow left for us.”

The two men sat down to supper at the small table inside the kitchen, and the meal revived them from their journey so much that Segundus was feeling cheerful by the time they retired to his library. He loved having a magical problem to work on, and unlike so many of the more desperate ones that had come to them lately, this had the benefit of being seemingly benign, as well as gifting him with the scholarship and companionship of Childermass. Sitting at opposite sides of the large desk, they began to pour over the likely literature, trading comments and sometimes reading passages aloud. It was one of the most agreeable evenings Segundus had spent in recent memory.

The evening became less pleasant, however, as it wore on and they failed to find anything useful to their situation. There were remarks on old wedding traditions with regards to brooms and bonfires and such. There were even a few obscure passages mentioning fairy customs. But there was absolutely no hint of any marriage done by magical binding.

“Whom might we consult?” said Segundus. He put aside his latest book and rested his head against the chair back. “We’ve no better books, and none of our fellow magicians are likely to know more than we.”

“We will experiment and invent a spell to our needs,” said Childermass, calm as ever. “We’ve done it before, when the need arises. New spells come from new needs.”

“Your faith in our abilities is, I confess, slightly better than mine,” sighed Segundus. “However, let us do no more tonight. I am tired and the words are swimming away from me.”

“Very well,” agreed Childermass. “Perhaps we will have fresh ideas in the morning.”

Segundus put out the fire while Childermass roughly tidied the desk, and they went upstairs.

But upon Childermass’ attempt to go into the rooms kept apart for him, they discovered to their surprise that the door led not to Childermass’ rooms, but to Segundus’. Upon investigating further, Segundus’ door  _ also _ led to Segundus’ rooms. Childermass’ seemed to have disappeared.

“Can a binding spell do this?” asked Childermass. “Or are we in the midst of something more powerful?” After a moment’s thought, he closed his eyes and seemed to be saying some magical phrase under his breath that Segundus could not quite catch. For another long moment, there was silence. Then he shook his head as a dog shakes off rain.

“What spell did you employ?” asked Segundus, a trifle apprehensively. “I did not recognise it.”

“It was no spell. I asked the house, in that manner we have been practicing[5]—asked it to reveal what has happened to my room and it replied—” here Childermass hesitated.

“What? What did it tell you?” demanded Segundus, who was not at all keen on the idea of his house rearranging itself without his permission.

“It—” his brow furrowed. “I believe it might have...felicitated us on our marriage.”

“That does not explain the disappearance of a suite of rooms!” protested Segundus. Childermass gave him his most crooked smile.

“The felicitations of the house were not the sort one gives in polite society, but closer to some of the toasts I would drink to a new couple when I was a sailor.” Childermass paused delicately. “There was an implication of...consummation.”

“Oh— _ oh _ .” Segundus felt his face become hot. On the one hand, he felt it was improper of such an old and august house to presume...but on the other—older things  _ did _ rather seem to be less proper, and it must be admitted that consummation  _ was _ an ancient and expected part of a marriage contract.

“I suppose we had better share my rooms, then, or we are unlikely to get any sleep,” he said, opting to set aside questions of propriety for the moment, since he was quite sure if there were any more nonsense tonight, in his fatigue, he might not remain so unruffled. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared a bed before—they’d shared one just last night, and in many other such places over the last several years. Neither of them had become rich men overnight, and it was still more economical to share, as well as practical.

“Thank you, Mr Segundus,” said Childermass, and it sounded sincere.

“Oh, let us dispense with ‘Mr’” said Segundus, waving a hand expansively. “We should have dispensed with them after that affair in Scarborough. And now that we are wed—” He coughed and offered Childermass a smile.

Childermass gave a short bark of laughter. “As you say…John.”

“Is it too strange, our having the same given name?” asked Segundus. Childermass shrugged.

“Half of England is called John, and more than half of Yorkshire. I suppose it cannot get any more natural than it already is. But I thank you for the familiarity.”

“We have known each other for over a decade now,” said Segundus, still smiling. “Magical binding or no, I would say we are very familiar to each other. Let us go to bed, John.”

They undressed, just as they had many times before, still discussing texts they might consult tomorrow, though their options were increasingly unlikely to hold anything helpful. And, in their nightshirts, they lay down beside each other on Segundus’ bed, which was considerably larger than the one in the village had been. 

Despite the rigours of the day, Segundus found that sleep would not come. He lay staring into the dark of the ceiling until small lights appeared to dance before his eyes. When he closed them, it was no different.

He must have made some small movement or noise, because Childermass said, “I cannot sleep, either.”

“It is most vexing,” said Segundus. “I could have sworn I was tired enough to fall asleep over my books.”

“Perhaps it is a side-effect of marriage,” said Childermass, a note of laughter in his voice.

“I cannot agree: I have found marriage quite surprisingly restful, thus far,” said Segundus, also finding the humour in the situation. “At the very least I know my…husband would walk through faerie with me.”

“I suppose that is more than one could say about most husbands,” agreed Childermass. “Certainly it is one of the only places where we two could dance without comment.”

“I had not thought about it in quite such a way,” said Segundus. 

“But you have thought of it,” said Childermass, his voice carefully idle. Segundus had thought of it, at length, especially when he had not seen Childermass for a stretch of months.Truthfully, he thought about Childermass with far greater depth and frequency than he was willing to admit.

“Yes,” said Segundus, cautiously. “It was…odd, but not altogether unpleasant to believe myself to be a servant in a place where no one cared what I did or who I might keep company with. At least for a time.”

“I am familiar with the feeling. It is similar, I think, to what it was like to be a sailor.” He paused, and Segundus thought he would speak on it no more. Childermass rarely volunteered information about his past before his employment with Norrell. But then we went on. “Sailing is hard work, and not safe in the least, but it is seen by many as a fair exchange for a freedom one can find nowhere else.”

“Why did you not carry on, and make that your career?” asked Segundus, genuinely curious. 

“Because I became aware that there were greater mysteries in the world than what lay across the oceans,” said Childermass. “When I met the sailor who held the Cards of Marseilles, and he allowed me to look upon them, I felt an instant of certainty. It was easier than reading sea or star charts, and yet incomprehensible. I knew suddenly, without question, that I would never be an old sailor. I wanted to know why I knew what I knew. I copied the cards, and then I—” here he laughed. “I went to a street magician in Whitby. When he proved false, nothing more than trickery and slight-of-hand, I went to another, and another.”

“And then you found your way to Norrell,” said Segundus.

“Yes. A way into the magic,” said Childermass. “But you know of that.”

“I would have been a dreadful sailor,” murmured Segundus, “I have only been on small ships, taking passage across the channel, or to Eire, and I was dreadfully sick every time. But I should have liked to have that freedom.”

He was at last becoming sleepy, both from the warmth of Childermass alongside him, and the low resonance of his voice in the dark. His eyes and his body grew pleasantly heavy, and he could feel himself teetering on the edge of sleep.

“We do impossible things,” he distantly heard Childermass say. “We may make our own freedoms.”

And then he slept.

-

Segundus woke to the sound of polite knocking. He blinked sleep from his eyes and was comforted by the familiar late morning light of his own room. Turning his head, he startled slightly at the sight of Childermass beside him, awake, and very close. Mr Segundus found his head was pillowed on Childermass’ arm. Childermass raised an eyebrow at him in enquiry, and Segundus blearily attempted to come more awake, though this was not a skill he had ever improved upon.

The knocking at the door to Segundus’ rooms continued. 

“Well?” said Childermass, voice rough from sleep. “‘Tis not my door to answer.” 

Segundus made a disgruntled noise and, when he felt he had sufficiently gathered himself to stand, rose, put on his dressing gown, and crossed to answer the door. It would not open. 

“Mr Segundus?” said the voice of Mrs Tallow on the other side.

“I’m here, Mrs Tallow. The door seems to be stuck fast.” He gave it another tug. The knob consented to twist, but the door did not move at all.

“Shall I fetch some men from the village to break it down?” she asked. Segundus considered. Childermass cleared his throat meaningfully. When Segundus looked over at him, he was sitting upright on the bed and made a gesture to Segundus to bring him nearer.

“What is it, John?” Segundus asked in a low murmur.

“Consult your house,” Childermass said, equally quietly. “It might listen to you better than it does to me, for I do not think the door is stuck naturally.”

“Oh!” said Segundus. “You mean the…felicitations it gave us last night.” And he promptly blushed. He had not thought through the implications last night, but now they roared up in his mind in full colour. 

Childermass nodded meaningfully.

“Ah...Mrs Tallow, that won’t be necessary,” Segundus said, raising his voice. “I believe it is a magical problem, and I shall have to solve it as such. Will you tell the staff that they may have a free day?”

“If you’re sure, Mr Segundus,” said Mrs Tallow. “Shall we come tomorrow?”

“Yes, if you please,” said Mr Segundus. “Should all go well, I will have this sorted out shortly.”

“As you say, Mr Segundus,” said Mrs Tallow. “Until tomorrow.” And they heard the sound of her retreating steps. She really was a very steady sort, which was just the thing for a magician’s household.

“Well,” said Segundus, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I suppose, as you suggest, I will talk to my house.” He let out a laugh at the strangeness of that sentence, and heard Childermass snort quietly behind him.

This sort of magic was new to both of them—indeed, to all of England. The ability to talk to the land and the structures and features of it had been lost just as surely as the smaller magics had been. The way of it required a sort of unfocusing of the mind, an ability to inhabit two different worlds at once. Segundus and Childermass both had the dubious benefit of having been introduced to that ability via the fairy magic affecting Lady Pole, but especially Mr Segundus, having lived with it for so long, knew how to enter the magical frame of mind, as it were. The difficulty lay in being understood, since human communication was much less precise than the subtle sort with which natural objects communicated. 

He closed his eyes and looked, in a magical sense, for the—heart of Starecross Hall, which seemed to him to be located in his own study, or perhaps below it, though he did not think the cellars extended so far.

“I am trapped in my rooms,” he told it.

“You are bound,” it said, in the creaking, grumbling voice of a large, old house, though it did not precisely  _ say _ this, so much as it gave him the impression of being tied to something.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “But Childermass and I will leave the room together.” His method of speaking to objects so far had been to combine his own words with a mental image of the thing he was trying to convey. In this case, both he and Childermass exiting the door.

“I  _ cannot _ open because you have not—” said the house, and here, it used a word that was not a word Segundus knew, but since they were speaking in a language that was not like a mortal language, the word came over him in images and smells and sensation. It knocked him straight out of the proper magical frame of mind. 

He was back on the edge of his bed, in his dressing gown, blushing to the roots of his hair, and feeling both freshly scandalised and a trifle too warm, even in his chilly autumn room where no fire had been lit because the servants couldn’t get in, because his house thought that he—that he and Childermass were required to—. The word the house had spoken had been a bright scattering of blood red feelings and the slide of hands against skin, and with a thickness to it, like the hottest summer day being broken by a warm rainstorm, and Segundus found he could not put it out of his mind.

“I take it we are not to be let out until we have fulfilled certain  _ obligations _ ,” said Childermass.

“Something—” Segundus swallowed. “To that effect. What shall we do?”

When there was no response from Childermass, he turned to look at him, and found Childermass studying him with a knowing gaze that Segundus found hard to hold.

“That is, Mr Childermass—John—I do not expect you to do anything that would be distasteful to you.”

“Mr Segundus—John—” and here Childermass breathed a short laugh. “Listen to me well. The laws of magic are older than the laws of man. The laws of man find many things distasteful, which have no basis in magic, nor logic. But by the same token, John, I would not have you do anything that is distasteful to  _ you _ .”

Childermass had shifted out from beneath the blankets so that they were now sitting side by side on the bed’s edge. Segundus was not uncomfortable, precisely, but he felt very precarious, as if he were dangling over a cliff instead of a bed. They were both silent for a long moment. 

“It is not...distasteful,” said Segundus, carefully. “To me. Just as dancing with you was not, just as lying beside you was not. Indeed, I would say that you are most agreeable to me.” Segundus looked at Childermass out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Ah,” said Childermass. They were silent for another long moment. Childermass was the first to stir. He reached over and took Segundus’ hand, causing Segundus to look at him properly. “It is traditional, is it not, to kiss the one you have married?” So saying, he lifted Segundus’ hand and kissed his knuckles, just where they were nearly permanently ink-stained.

Segundus shook off his shock as quickly as he was able, and, lifting his other hand, hesitantly shifted Childermass’ hair aside to cup his jaw. 

“Very traditional,” he said, and then with the rest of his courage, he kissed Childermass on the mouth. 

He could tell he had taken Childermass by surprise this time, which was such a rare thing, that he could not help but half-smile into the kiss. Childermass’ surprise did not last long, however, and soon enough he pressed back, his mouth firm and sure, and it left Segundus breathless. Childermass tucked Segundus’ hand against his chest and used both of his hands to seize Segundus’ jaw, the better to angle it just so, and kiss him with a new level of determination.

They had managed to shift and lay stretched out on the middle of the bed, becoming hopelessly tangled in bed sheets and each other, with Segundus draped over Childermass in an appealingly close fashion. Childermass had lost his nightshirt and had only his small clothes on. Segundus’ dressing gown had been flung over the side of the bed, and his nightshirt might as well have been lost for the way Childermass had worked it down over one shoulder so that he might get his mouth on Segundus’ collarbone. When he reached the limits that the shirt would allow, he made an impatient noise and broke away just long enough to jerk the whole of it over Segundus’ head, after which he recommenced applying his mouth to all manner of places on Segundus’ person.

Segundus was hardly idle: his hands were engaged in as much exploratory work as Childermass’ mouth and he had just worked the laces loose on Childermass’ small clothes when something occurred to him.

“Wait!” said Segundus, pulling back from Childermass, who was gratifyingly reluctant to let him go. He sat up a little, straddling Childermass at the waist. “How does the magic regard consummation?” he asked, his eyes alight as they usually were when faced with a new and interesting magical question. “If it is to fulfil a magical contract, what are the constraints on the act that—” he paused as the import of his own words came to him and then he looked down at Childermass, who had relaxed back into the bedsheets, grinning, his hands now tucked behind his head.

“It is a very important question,” began Segundus, indignantly.

“It is,” said Childermass. “But I would say, for us, let us try our hand at whatever we wish, and if the act does not free us, we shall adjust accordingly—and try again.” 

“Oh. Quite,” said Segundus, faintly. Childermass grinned even more widely and coaxed Segundus back down to lie atop him in the same pleasing position in which they had previously been getting along so well. 

“Let us try, like this,” murmured Childermass, a hand at the small of Segundus’ back, as he rolled their hips together, and Segundus made a little moan at the friction the motion caused. “And if the magic should call for further measures,” said Childermass against his jaw, “We will invent some.”

“That plan is…oh...acceptable to me,” said Segundus, and put his mouth back to Childermass’. 

It was not long before Segundus remembered his previous task and set about removing the last barriers between them. Childermass made a rough sound into his mouth when Segundus wrapped his hand around his cock. In this, at least, it seemed that neither of them were ignorant of the older laws that governed bodies. Childermass’ hand joined Segundus’ and together they worked to completion, first Childermass spilling against his own chest, and then Segundus following him over, his forehead pressed hard to Childermass’ breastbone. 

When their ragged breathing had slowed, and their limbs had stopped trembling, there was a slight shift in the atmosphere around them, that perhaps non-magicians would not have noticed at all. To Segundus it felt akin to surfacing after ducking beneath water. Lifting his head, he looked toward the door. It did not look different, but he was willing to wager it would now open as it normally did.

“It seems,” said Childermass, lazily, his chest vibrating against Segundus’, “that we have fulfilled the requirements of the spell.”

“Good,” said Segundus, “I am in need of tea before I engage in any more marital acts.”

Childermass laughed, and they rose and dressed, though in a much more haphazard fashion than either of them normally employed.

-

The pleasant lassitude of their actions and the familiar feeling of having overcome a magical obstacle together began to fade after they had had their midday meal (which consisted of the pies Mrs Tallow had left on the hob), when each remembered the original problem: Their bound condition which prevented them each from going about his separate work.

“Right,” said Segundus, coming back to himself with a sinking feeling. He tried to sound businesslike. “Now we must see what we can do about dissolving this binding, so that you may go about your business as Reader and I may be a school master again come the start of the term.”

“You are right, of course,” said Childermass, softly, and followed him to the library. They had only a few more sources to investigate, though not much hope of finding anything relevant in them. 

At one point Childermass put a book down with a frustrated sigh and said, “I can tell you the exact location of several books I would like to consult—in Hurtfew’s library.”

Segundus reached across the desk and put a hand on Childermass’.

“It is a loss I am all the more bitter over because I do not know what knowledge I am missing. But come, you said it once—we do not need the books any more, not truly. We have been  _ conversing _ with my house. We have spoken recently to an air elemental. The very stones heeded you in Faerie. Can we not invent a spell that shews us our bond? Then, perhaps, we would have a better idea about what can be done.”

“A very elegant solution,” said Childermass, the note of admiration making Segundus feel rather flushed. “What should our basis be?” Childermass considered, brow furrowed as he thought through the spells he knew, and Segundus felt a shift in his chest at that familiar expression. “Asher’s True Discernment[6]?”

“Perhaps,” said Segundus, refocusing on the problem at hand. “Perhaps if we change the carrot seed for marigold? I’m sure I have a few dried heads—”

They spent the next half hour in a most enjoyable discussion about how to repurpose Asher’s True Discernment. Once they had agreed upon the spell, in much simplified and modernised form, they wasted no more time, and cast it. 

The magic worked, though each of them perceived it differently, and what they saw was similar in function, though not the same in form.

Strangely, the first thing Segundus perceived was a crown upon Childermass’ head. It was made of ivy and perhaps should have looked incongruous on the ink-black length of Childermass’ hair, but instead served to make Childermass look like some sort of pagan god of old, the sort that would deal justice as he saw fit, with a wry humorous twist of his mouth, and not necessarily in a way his supplicants agreed with. Even more strange—there were marks on his eyelids as he blinked, on his forehead, and across his mouth, like silvery smudges, and they gave Segundus the same queer feeling that the fairy magic surrounding Lady Pole had, except without the mournful, desolate quality.

Then Segundus looked down and saw flowers—small, white heather blooms, delicately and intricately wound around Childermass’ thin wrists. They did not seem to hinder him, for in that moment, he reached a hand out to Segundus, his face betraying a measure of wonderment.

For Segundus wore no crown, and what Childermass saw around his wrists were beaten gold chains with links so thin and fine that he had never seen their equal, and with small chips of emerald embedded at regular intervals throughout, the exact shade of Segundus’ eyes.

They each reached out for the other’s hands, talking at once.

“The finest gold—”

“The most delicate blossoms—”

Their touch did nothing to disturb either the heather or the gold and their fingers met only only skin.

“It should be possible to sever the bond,” said Childermass after a long moment spent inspecting the intricate work of their bindings. He held Segundus’ wrists, lightly, turning them this way and that, and he did not let go. 

“Lead sheers, perhaps,” said Segundus, reluctantly. “Though—” He cut himself off.

“Say what is on your mind, John,” said Childermass.

“It seems wrong, somehow,” he said quietly. “They are—” He paused and started again. “I am not a very religious man. I have been too caught up in the study of magic to make much study of the church, but... it seems to me it would be wrong on the level of sacrilege to cut this—” he spread his fingers over the illusory heather.

“Perhaps we have made too much of this, and too little at the same time,” said Childermass. “Others have doubtless married this way, and managed to go about their lives unencumbered. I have an idea.” He tightened his hands around Segundus’ briefly, before he let them go. “Come, we must perform one last experiment.”

Childermass led the way to Starecross’ front door, and they stepped outside.

“Before we consummated our marriage, all manner of magical devices made themselves nuisances. Well, now it is done. Perhaps our inability to part was caused by that, not by something inherent to the marriage bond. You stay here, and I will walk away.”

Mr Segundus stood in the doorway to his own home and watched Mr Childermass, without his hat, and with his coat most haphazardly arranged, walk out into the courtyard. He felt a certain reluctance to watch him go, but he did not think it was a magical one. He looked down at his own wrists and did not see the gold that Childermass had described, but instead the woven heather to match Childermass’ own. 

Childermass reached the stone wall and went beyond. In fact, he walked until he could no longer been seen over the horizon, and for a brief, foolish moment, Segundus wondered whether he would just keep walking, right back to the moors and to his life as a wanderer, where he saw Segundus only in moments of magical crisis or need. But that was silly. Brewer was here, and so were all the rest of his things.

A few minutes later, Childermass came back into view, his shape and gait so familiar to Segundus, even at a distance, that it made something tighten in his chest in a manner he was not altogether glad of, for he recognised that it was not a new feeling. It was the feeling he always had when he saw Childermass approaching, ever since the magic had returned and Childermass’ presence meant a competent fellow magician and companion; an equal and a friend.

As Childermass came closer, and the woven heather at his wrists became distinguishable again, something wound tighter and tighter in Segundus’ chest. Childermass’ expression was unusually serious, as if he were thinking through a great problem. Segundus nearly asked him what was wrong, but Childermass spoke first.

“Mr Segundus. John,” he said. “Forgive me if this is too bold, but—” he paused. “We are married. We have wed each other. It was not done, at first, with conscious effort, but from what I am given to understand of a mutual magical binding, it cannot rightly be done without the efforts of both people being brought into alignment.” He stopped at a neutral distance, several feet from the doorstep, and continued speaking. “We have enchanted each other, John. Can you say with a whole heart that being bound to me in this manner displeases you?”

“No, I—” Segundus trembled a little and then set his jaw firmly. “I cannot. Because it does not displease me. I would say, rather, it is the opposite.”

“That is what I would also say,” said Childermass, slowly and with great solemnity. “And as we have just demonstrated, we are no longer bound together physically, though the marriage still holds.” He gestured at Segundus’ wrists.

“Are you saying, John, that you would like to stay wed to me?” asked Segundus slowly but with tentative and rising delight.

“That is what I am saying,” agreed Childermass. A guarded flicker of some deeper emotion was writ across his face as he regarded Segundus. “Would you have me?”

“I would, and I do, and I am glad of it,” said Segundus. “Come back inside where I may tell you properly.”

Childermass’ eyes lit up with good humour. “I think there will be little that is proper about that.”

“On the contrary,” said Segundus, primly. “My memory is somewhat hazy on the specifics, but I recall marriage absolves a multitude of improprietous acts.”

“Does it indeed?” murmured Childermass, following him into the house. “You will have to instruct me, my religious upbringing was distinctly lacking.”

-

It was nearly two days later when Segundus emerged from his blissfully wedded state long enough to look around the library in confusion (where he and Childermass were engaged in drawing up an article about their encounter with the air elemental) to realise something was amiss.

“Gracious, where is Vinculus?” he asked, a question that had not occurred to him before now, the Book being Childermass’ business when they were not otherwise engaged in magical pursuits.

“He’ll be along. I was to meet him at Whitby yesterday. Since I was not there, he’ll make his way here. Best to wait for him rather than go looking.”

And so it was that only a day later, just past noon, Vinculus strolled into Starecross Hall as if it were his own residence, and startled Mrs Tallow in her kitchen. She’d met him before, though, and drove him straight out of the kitchen and into the study.

“....come into  _ my _ kitchen, stinking of gin and the lord only knows what else, and I’ll see to it you never get another beef pie so long as you live.” She let go of him, nodded regally to Mr Segundus, and swept from the room. 

Vinculus strutted into the room, not the least discomfited by his manner of entry. He still looked dirty and disreputable, but much more well-fed since Childermass had taken his care upon himself.

“Just where I thought I’d find you,” he said. “Nearly in exactly the positions, too.”

“Welcome, Vinculus,” said Segundus, tolerantly, putting aside his pen so he wouldn’t drip ink on the latest draft of the article. “I would ask how you’ve been passing the time, but I am almost certain I don’t wish to know.

“Had to see to my wife.” 

“Which one?” asked Childermass.

“Sweet Nan. The first woman I ever met who did not care a bit about my skin, because she was too ginned up to notice until several weeks after we were married!”

“That is...almost a lovely story, Vinculus,” offered Segundus. “I expect you are tired after your journey. If you would like to rest or...bathe, I will have a room prepared.”

“No, no, ‘m fine for now. Thought I’d see if you two gen’lmen needed me for anything, else I’ll—” Here he stopped and peered at them, his mouth disappearing altogether behind his beard as he pursed his lips.

“Out with it, man,” said Childermass, after quite a long moment had passed. Vinculus’ face split into a grin and he started to laugh.

“Ah,” said Vinculus. “Got yourselves wedded, hm?” He grinned wider at their shocked expressions. “I know all about marriage, don’t I?  _ Five _ wives.”

“How can you tell?” asked Segundus, fascinated. “Can you see the—” he gestured at their wrists.

“No, not there. You’re both bound ‘round with ivy,” he cackled at them. “Just like the old handfastings. And I would lay a guinea on it that after the ivy you shared blood, then a meal and a drink, and then you shared a bed, just to seal it nice and neat like.” He squinted at them. “Would have to be, to get so many layers.”

Segundus thought back to the day they bound the elemental. The ivy had been hopelessly tangled around both of their hands. Childermass had cut himself, and quite probably Segundus had, as well. Then they’d gone back to the inn and celebrated with food and ale—which was certainly a shared drink, and perhaps even the same cup if they had become careless at some point. Then they’d gone up to their room in the inn and shared a bed. They’d blithely stepped their way into a simple, yet deeply old and powerful marriage ritual. 

Segundus met Childermass’ eye, and they both began to laugh.

  


Notes:

1\. Cailean Greenhill, Bindings and Restraints of a Magical Nature, John Murray, 1817. [return]

2\. There had been a ceremonial knife and rather too much blood, and it had only been the severing of an attempted binding, not a completed one.[return]

3 “The World as a Tapestry” by James Parish, published in The Modern Magician, 1820[return]

4\. It was extremely convenient that Mr Honeyfoot had taken a short trip to York and would not return for several days yet. In this case, “we” was the small staff responsible for the upkeep of Starecross Hall who returned home to the village every night.[return]

5\. It had become obvious from both the advancements in reading the king’s letters, and in their recent dealings with fairies, that nearly anything could be spoken to if one were able to speak the correct way. Indeed, it seemed all magic was somewhat based on this principle. Actually being understood, however, was anything but simple.[return]

6\. A spell originally invented by a most paranoid 13th century magician named Reeve Asher, who was certain that nearly everyone was plotting against him, and had thought to discern people’s true intentions with a spell. Unfortunately for him, he created a very excellent spell to reveal enchantments but not intentions, and was subsequently murdered by his business partner over a disagreement about investments. [return]


End file.
